The Cat and the Moon
by Leafy Lincoln
Summary: The dwarves finally get to experience a party at the Shire. Who knew their hobbit could play the fiddle? AU Post-Hobbit Trilogy.


**Author's Note: **This particular story was inspired by the song of the same name, from the Lord of the Rings musical. We suggest you listen to it; it is beautifully done and won't fail to bring a smile to your face.

* * *

"Bilbo Baggins is back!" The call sounded all around the rolling hills of the Shire, repeated more than once in countless octaves, carrying out the message to all. Activity, which wasn't at all common to the normally simple and peaceful people, started all around.

The people of the Shire stirred out of their cozy holes, curious to see the oddity that was Bilbo Baggins return home from his so-called adventure. Murmurs followed after the poor hobbit and his company of fellow oddities, growing even more intense when the Small Folk spotted his choice of companions- a company of thirteen dwarves and one wizard. Many of the older hobbits grumbled that the company was surely up to no good, especially with that troublesome Gandalf among them.

Children were running out to see the strange, yet exciting, phenomenon; creatures that, with their broad shoulders and intimidating expressions, surely weren't hobbits, no matter how small they appeared to be, parading through the town. They called out to the two individuals known to them, screaming out for Gandalf's fireworks and inquiring about Bilbo's whereabouts.

Giggles and squeals of small Hobbits followed the band all the way to Bag End, only to be finally sent away, back to their parents with a stern look and a promise of a show later from the towering wizard.

The children ran back home with news that surely a party was going to occur, since Gandalf only offered 'shows' for special occasions, be it birthdays or reunions. Gossip spread like wild fire, instructing all to converge in the large clearing in celebration.

A comment here and there was made that someone should inform the Sackville-Baggins that Bilbo was indeed back and that it would not be wise for intruders to be found at Bag End once its rightful owner arrived, before all thoughts was focused on the upcoming festivities.

* * *

In record time, only an hour or two, the vacant field was transformed into something full of life and noise. Hobbits ran here and there, rushing to get everything set up and in place. Tents and tables were set up, foods cooked, instruments tuned, and ale was rolled in by the barrels. Animals, from cats and dogs to pigs and chickens, ran about, adding more to the chaos with their barks and sqwaks. A few tumbles were made, as well as laughs and jeers. As time passed on, more hobbits were seen socializing then working, something that wasn't thought to be very serious.

It didn't look like Bilbo was necessarily surprised or even angry that a party was going on without his permission. The hobbit merely smiled at the questioning looks he received at his good nature and quickly set a sign upon his fence which read 'No admittance: exception party business'. He told his companions that hobbits could- no, would find anything to use as an excuse to have a celebration and attempting to deny them it was of no use. Gandalf nodded in agreement, affectionately commenting to Balin that one would never find a more jovial people than of those that resided in the Shire.

The dwarves, initially seen as _outsiders_ to the majority, were accepted once they offered what they had to the Shire. Not only chests of gold and silver, but different brands of weed for the pipe and countless stories of faraway lands; soon enough, the suspicious expressions of the elderly melted good naturally and the youngsters smiled shyly, yet eagerly, at the strange dwarves.

It wasn't long before the festivities really began, music and laughter echoing along the shining, green hills.

The children quickly took their chance and surrounded the tallest of the company, who was seated at a table along with the dwarves, not at all discouraged by his looming presence. Giggles were made, the smaller of the hobbits clinging onto his robes or reaching for his staff. One or two climbed onto the table, unabashedly trying to get at the wizard's hat.

Most of the dwarves eyed the little creatures, careful where they left their weapons and their feet. But, they were melting, as hobbit children were just as jovial as the adults, if not more lovable. It wasn't long until Ori was showing off his drawings, as well as making a few more new ones. Dwalin and Thorin relented, showing their weapons from an acceptable distance, explaining what their tattoos meant and such. Balin and Óin was a bit off from the others, describing various dwarven battles and kingdoms, capturing their audience's full attention; Óin causing chuckles from all around when he repeated the same story that Balin had just told moments before, forgetting his ear trumpet more than once. While Bifur was tinkering away, making toys and contraptions, Bofur entertained by telling jokes and songs. Bombur went off to where the food was, a crowd already forming as the dwarf ate all that he could, as expected.

More often than not, it wasn't just the hobbit children that were interested in the dwarves, but some older folk.

Bilbo found himself pulled into every conversation that was possible, many hobbits wanting to know what had happened on his 'unexpected adventure' and how he'd received such wealth. Cousins, family and other friends expressed their relief of his safety, thinking him dead from the length of how long he'd been gone, the same going for other relatives whom he swore he hadn't known existed. The only largely negative feelings he received was from a pair of sour Sackville-Baggins, but Bilbo stayed clear of them, something his company found amusing.

Time passed, the festivities becoming louder and louder, the sun setting. More food and more ale was brought out, the inhabitants of the Shire only diving more into the fun.

* * *

"Master Boggins is a fiddler?" Fíli asked, squinting at their burglar as if deciding whether it really could be true. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"Can burglars even be fiddlers?" Kíli inquired immediately after from over his brother's shoulder, also scrutinizing the hobbit. He was answered from multiple voices across the table, all opposing each other and trying to be heard over the others. Bilbo, not at all liking where everything was heading, defiantly rejected the allegations.

"Is he any good?" Thorin directed his question to their wizard, promptly ignoring Bilbo's stuttering and blushing.

"Well, you see, I-"

"Indeed, Bilbo is an exceptional player." Gandalf was heard over the laughing of children as they chased after his wispy butterflies, outright cutting off the said hobbit's objections. "If I remember correctly, the last time I heard him play was many years back, at a birthday party. A fine time it was."

"Why don't you play for us, lad?" Even as Balin asked, the rest of the company- mainly Fíli, Kíli, Bofur, and Ori- demanded that he show them his supposed talent. Gloin slapped his back in encouragement, sending the hobbit tumbling forward slightly.

"I haven't pl-"

"Just take it up once more, Mr. Bilbo." The Gaffer, Bilbo realized, had interjected himself into the group's conversation. His sudden interruption wasn't much cared for, as he had brung drinks for the company, all of which was accepted with cheers and thanks. They argued even more with his appearance, stating that they weren't the only one demanding this of him.

And quite suddenly, a fiddle was shoved into his arms by unknown hands. He looked around, demanding to know to whom did the instrument belong to, planning on returning it, only for no one to answer, determined faces staring back at him. The frown that was settled on his face began to melt into a dubious expression when he looked down at the object in his arms.

"Looks like you'll have to play, Burglar." Thorin said in an even voice, his words law. Bilbo gave a bemused nod, a hesitant smile forming. How one was supposed to refuse a king, he did not know.

And so, grudgingly, he started playing a few notes.

Fíli and Kíli grimaced simultaneously at the sound. Oin loudly affirmed him that his fiddling was lovely while Dwalin laughed heartily. Dori clapped his hands politely; behind him Nori inspected a spoon, nodded after a while and placed it in his breast pocket. Bilbo shook his head, muttering about practice, and went to tune the thing. One or two cheers of encouragement sounded out, followed by a collective laugh at some unheard joke. Bilbo held back a blush, only looking at the instrument in his arms, focusing on the strings.

An explosive cheer was let out by the other occupants of the Shire, making Bilbo jolt and ruin the melody he was just starting to play.

Saradoc Brandybuck, as infamous as the Tooks for his erratic behavior, immediately took it upon himself to start singing. Bilbo hurriedly started playing once more, so that he'd be along with the other hobbit, only this time a bit more exercised. Saradoc clapped Bilbo on the shoulder, raising a pint, and began slowly,

_There's an inn of old renown,_

_Where they brew a beer so brown,_

Cheers and laughter rang out from those who knew the melody, raising their mugs in approval. There was a slight pause before the tune sped up, the noise creaking out of the fiddle smoothing out with the pace.

_Moon came rolling down the hill,_

_One hevensday night to drink his fill._

Bofur, the more talented of the dwarves in melodies and songs, immediately recognized the song and let out a bark of laughter, clapping his hands high above his head. Bifur yapped beside him, tapping and bagging some utensils against the various objects surrounding him. Now the pace quickened considerably, Bilbo instantly quickening along with it, accompanied with more players.

_On a three stringed fiddle there,_

_Played the Ostler's cat so fair,_

_The horn'd cow that night was seen to,_

_Dance a jig upon the green._

Bilbo swayed to the rhythm he made, his foot tapping against the cool dirt. His head angled to the side so as to better watch his fingers dance across the strings and ensure the right notes were made. Every so often he'd glance up at his friends, smiling at their astonishment and merriment before quickly returning his gaze back to his playing. He didn't see the appraising look the older dwarves gave him, laughing all the while at their hobbit.

_Called by the fiddle to the middle of the muddle,_

_Where the cow with the capers sent the small dog squealing._

_Moon in a fuddle went to huddle by the griddle,_

_But he slipped in a puddle and the world went reeling._

Bilbo sang right alongside his bow, following the other singers as they skipped through the crowds. The basic hop-step of the hobbits, fast and on mark with the music, was increasingly confusing to the dwarves; Ori tripping and confused as he watched the children as they tried to show the step, laughing at his clumsiness. A pink tongue stuck itself out of his mouth in determination as he and the princes grasped each others shoulders in an attempt to keep upright as they practiced the steps.

_Downsides went up, hey!_

_Outsides went wide,_

_As the fiddle played a twiddle,_

_And the moon slept, till Sterrinday._

_Upsides went west, hey!_

_Rucksides went boom,_

_With a twiddle on the fiddle in the middle by the griddle,_

_And the moon slept, till Sterrinday._

Two other hobbits set their bows against the strings of their respected fiddles, happily joining the company's hobbit. Feet stomped with the rhythm, almost deafening the listeners as their numbers and enthusiasm increased. Bofur, Dori, and Nori began playing, their flutes easily heard above everything else. Others, all familiar with the well-known melody, raised their voices in both time and tune,

_Dish from off the dresser pranced,_

_Found a spoon and gaily danced,_

_Horses neighed and chomped their bits_

_With a bloodshot moon had lost his wits,_

_Well cow jumped over dog barked wild,_

_The moon lay broke and sweetly smiled,_

_Ostler cried, "Play faster a cat!"_

_Because we all want to dance like that!_

Countless of hobbits had started twirling and dancing, their large feet surprisingly nimble and unhindering their quick steps. Gandalf hummed to himself as he shared a dance with a persistent set of little hobbits. Both Kíli and Fíli had been pulled, tripping into the crowd, guided and twirled about by their partners. They called out to their uncle and other companions, insisting they join in such amusing antics, so unlike those games and dances performed in Erebor.

Their uncle sat at one of the many tables, himself content to simply watch and enjoy with a pint of ale as company. At his shoulder swayed a tipsy Glóin, asking the dwarf king if there was anything else he needed; a few drops of alcohol slipped over the top of his mug and onto the other's coat as his arms went swinging. Thorin, for his part, didn't seem to particularly care of the mess or of the various drunks, hobbits and dwarf alike, that came up to him.

_Gambol and totter really hotter than a hatter,_

_And his spin on a kipper like a windmill flailing,_

_World with a clatter till you scatter every potter,_

_And the strings started breaking as the world go sailing._

The only dwarves that were able to keep up with the rush of the lyrics were Bofur and Bifur, though many speculated on whether or not the latter was even singing the proper lyrics. To even more amazement, Bilbo was still singing along as easily as if it was second nature, never losing a note.

_Downsides go up, hey!_

_Outsides go wide,_

_You can clatter with your platter,_

_But the moon slept, till Sterrinday,_

_Upsides go west,_

A loud _hey!_ erupted from the low hills of the Shire, a majority of the noise seemingly coming from the mouth of the boisterous dwarves stationed throughout the field; they rocked on their heels and easily strung their thick arms around the shoulders of anyone near them, be it hobbit or dwarf, howling their support of the festivities.

_Rugsides go boom,_

_With a platter and a clatter you can shatter every platter,_

_But the moon slept, till Sterrinday._

At one point or another Bofur had lifted Bilbo onto a table, urging him to give it his all. There was only a moment of protest, the hobbit insisting that tables weren't a place for feet, especially hobbit feet that had yet to be washed and properly groomed. However, calls for him to continue grew louder, forcing him to resume his playing. He nearly fell when a cheer broke out from the audience surrounding him.

"That's our burglar!" Bofur proudly yelled, stepping onto the table momentarily to set his hat upon the hobbit's head.

Another hobbit soon joined him on top of the table, shaking a tambourine in her grasp. She clapped the instrument against her palm and hip, spinning around Bilbo as he twirled; the movement and the whistles that shot through the air making his head spin.

"He's a Took, alright!"

Yet his fingers never stopped, switching their position every second while his other hand swished this and that way at irregular lengths to keep up with the dance-driven beat. He pushed the fiddle to unimaginable volumes, with the other fiddlers following seconds behind what they heard, their fingers trying to keep up.

He and the tambourine player circled each other, hopping in a dance all hobbits knew. Their feet would tap against each other in the familiar dance, their hips twisting and knees bent as they switched directions. Curly locks of brown hair bounced with the rhythm as their mouths chanted,

_Fi-fo-fiddle-diddle,_

_Fi-fo-fiddle-diddle,_

Dwalin and Glóin had started a drinking contest, each downing cup after cup of ale. The hobbits surrounding them were increasing in noise as the dwarves grabbed the next pint. It wasn't until Glóin, ale dripping onto his beard, fell backward in his seat after tipping too far back and Dwalin slamming his cup onto the table with a victorious cry, that the group burst into applause. Dwarves were greater drinkers than hobbits and the tallest dwarf had proven it to his audience.

Thorin clapped Dwalin on the back, congratulating his companion, while Óin helped two young hobbits get his brother to his feet, yelling that his brother was the only light-weight dwarf he knew.

_Hey-yey-yey-yey-oh-ho!_

_Hey-yey-yey-yey-oh-ho!_

_Hey-hey-din-gen-do!_

_Hey-hey-din-geli-do!_

_Hoo-rye-and-hott-a-cott-a ho!_

_Hoo-rye-and-hott-a-cott-a ho ho!_

_Hott-a-cott-a-hotta-ko!_

_Hott-a-cott-a-ko-cott-a-ko-ho!_

Most tried their best in repeating the nonsensical lyrics,

_Fi-fo-fiddle-diddle-hi-ho!_

_Fi-fo-fiddle-diddle-hi-ho!_

_Ho fiddlee-ding-galli-do!_

_Ho fiddlee-ding-galli-do!_

At this point, Óin had all since abandoned his ear trumpet, content with shouting the lyrics in what he thought was the right tune, right along with a drunken Glóin. No one bothered to stop them, the voices of the rest of the Shire more or less drowning him out.

_Hoo-rye-hoo-rye oops-oops- ay!_

_Hoo-rye-hoo-rye oops-oops- ay!_

_Hotta-cotta-hotta-cotta-mi-fo-fo!_

_Hotta-cotta-hotta-cotta-mi-fo-fo!_

_Hotta-cotta-hotta-cotta-hotta-cotta-hotta-cotta-hotta-cotta-hotta-cotta-mi-fo-fo!_

Surprisingly, the verses seemed practiced, the hobbits harmonizing wonderfully, melding both high and low octaves. There was no need to repeat, as half the Shire began their lines before the other half even finished; their voices gained strength as they came to the end.

_Downsides go up, hey!_

Somewhere a glass was broken, the crash buried by the noise of the celebration.

_Outsides go wide,_

_With a twiddle on the fiddle in the middle by the griddle,_

_And the moon slept, till Sterrinday._

_Upsides go west, hey!_

_Rucksides go boom,_

_With a platter and a clatter you can shatter every platter,_

_But the moon slept, till Sterrinday._

A loud cheer went through the crowd as the last note faded, only to be drowned out by a loud crack high above them. Dozens upon dozens heads eagerly tilted upward, mouths opening and their eyes going wide in pure wonder. Bright colors shined in the sky, sparkling and fizzing out of existence after their impossible racing around the clearing.

People clapped and hailed the party a success. They looked to one another, smiling gaily and gleefully talking about frivolous matters.

Bilbo laughed with the rest as he carefully edged his way off the table he had been perching on, holding out a hand for his dancing partner. It wasn't long after he had placed his instrument down, declining numerous offers for another round, that Bofur ran up to him. The burglar offered the other's fuzzy hat to him, barely getting out a word before he was encompassed in a bone-snapping embrace.

"My, my, our hobbit is full of surprises." The dwarf stepped back to allow Bilbo space to breath and ruffled the shorter of the two's curly hair. Hat already perfectly balanced on his head Bofur guided the hobbit through the masses toward the area where the tall figure of Gandalf stood.

When they passed Bombur, seated and reaching for what looked to be his fifth wheel of cheese, Bofur jabbed his shoulder and inclined his head toward the wizard. The wide dwarf lifted himself off his creaking stool and started following them before pausing and quickly returning back to snatch the cheese out of a old hobbit's grasp. He started nibbling on it as he walked, even offering some to Dori and his brothers when they joined the small group.

Soon they found themselves with the rest of the company, all of whom seemed to be enjoying themselves. Fili and Kili had taken it upon themselves to teach a drunk Glóin some dance steps, outright laughing when the fellow tripped over his own feet and toppled over, bringing down a yowling Bifur with him. Balin and Dwalin stood on either side of their king, watching the proceeding with a light heart.

Gandalf walked up to the arriving group, careful not to step on any hobbits taking a drunken nap on the ground or get in the way of hobbits running about with platters of food. He leaned down, back arching in order to be somewhat on Bilbo's level, to inform them on how drained he was feeling and suggested they retire for the night.

The dwarves agreed, exclaiming that the celebration would continue at Bag End; Bilbo tried his best not to flinch at the thought of his dear burrow being tormented by thirteen dwarves. The other residents of the Shire didn't seem to particularly mind that the supposed host of the party was turning in for the night, happy enough to continue in their merriment till the wee hours of the morning.

"Lead the way, burglar." Thorin stepped aside and stretched his arm out.

Without anything further said Bilbo started trekking his way toward his cozy and dearly missed home, followed by some of the strangest beings he ever had the pleasure of knowing. He supposed a little chaos and mess was perfectly alright as long as it was family.


End file.
